Melancholia
by S J Smith
Summary: Alphonse and Edward aren't adjusting to being in Risembool as well as they expected. Al/Winry/Ed friendship.


**Title:** Melancholia

**Author:** S J Smith

**Rating:** K+

**Summary:** Alphonse and Edward aren't adjusting to being home as well as they expected.

**Disclaimer:** Just playing paper dolls, here.

**Notes:** Written for the LJ community, FMAGiftExchange, for the 2012 Halloween Trick or Treat exchange.

* * *

The air hung, humid and thick, and far hotter than anyone could remember experiencing in Resembool for decades. Alphonse lay flat on the grass outside the house, under one of the oak trees. The grass and ground seemed a little cooler than anywhere else around. The basement had a clammy feel to it that made Alphonse uncomfortable, and, besides, outside, he could hear the birds.

"Oh, shut up!" The door slammed to the house, and Alphonse thought to himself, 'And it's easier to ignore the arguments.'

When they'd first gotten home, everything was amazing. Being back in Resembool was almost like a benediction, a comforting balm after everything that had happened. Then, everything seemed to slide sideways. Edward's temper got shorter, and he'd pick fights over nothing, and storm off for hours. Alphonse tried to keep him calm, only to lose his own temper. Winry's frustration practically bled into the air, as if she didn't know what she could do or say to keep from another fight breaking out. Granny's cure-all – chores – didn't always work. There was only so much wood that needed to be chopped, and Edward had already repaired and painted the chicken coop. She'd pushed him to work with the Coyles to fix their stone fence, and that took a few days, but it wasn't enough to keep him busy.

Alphonse knew how Edward felt. It was like an itching deep inside. He'd wake up in the middle of the night, muffling a scream in his pillow, or panting desperately, with Edward sitting on the edge of the mattress, murmuring his name and touching him. Sometimes, the sensation of his brother's hand was comforting; other times, his body reacted strangely, as if Edward's hand was a hot poker, or the touch rough enough to bruise. Better, then, to hang around outside the house. It seemed safer than the alternative, at least.

Edward stomped up to him, throwing himself onto the ground without saying anything. His chest heaved as he sighed, but, other than that, and the faint grinding of his teeth, he didn't make a sound. That familiar thrum of tension ran through him, though; Alphonse could all but feel it through the cushion of air between them.

Alphonse felt like he had to ask, even if he thought he probably knew the answer. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Edward growled, throwing his arm over his eyes. He lay still for a few seconds, then sat up abruptly, wrapping his arms around his legs, a scowl on his face.

The door slammed again, and Alphonse turned his head, seeing Winry running down the steps. She came to the tree, her brow thunderous. Edward hunched up even more tightly as she got close enough to ask, "What was that about, Ed?"

"Nothing," he repeated, sounding sullen.

Arms akimbo, Winry stood over them both, glaring. "I don't understand! What's wrong with both of you? You're so…so! Gah!"

"We're okay, Winry," Edward said. Even Alphonse didn't believe the tone of his voice. No way Winry would.

"You are not okay," she said, rolling her eyes. "You guys." Sighing, Winry squatted down next to Edward, concern writing itself over her fury. She took a deep breath, and Alphonse watched how she rubbed her chin. "You guys," she repeated, "you know that some of my customers were in the military, right?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" Edward asked, giving her a nasty look.

Winry ignored it. "Sometimes, during rehabilitation, they act weird. Go off in their own heads. Mr. Garfiel and Granny, both, they explained it to me, that it's war malaise."

Edward wrapped his arms even tighter around his legs, letting out a grumbling sound. Alphonse, though, sat up. "War malaise?"

"Uh, huh," Winry nodded, though she didn't look at either of them. "Or sometimes they call it 'soldier's heart'. Mr. Bannon had it. When I was working on his arm, he just snapped." Her hands mimed a breaking branch. "I had a bruise on the side of my face - "

"He hit you?" Edward uncurled for that, his fists trembling.

"Yeah, but it wasn't his fault." Winry smiled at him reassuringly. There was something she didn't say, Alphonse could tell. Something must've happened inside the house that sent Edward outside in this mood, something that Winry didn't blame Edward for any more than she blamed Mr. Bannon for whatever he'd done to her. "It's just something that happened."

"How," Alphonse swallowed hard at the way his voice squeaked, "how did he get over it?" He ignored the dark look Edward shot his way.

"He talked to people. People who'd been through the same sort of thing," Winry said, reaching past Edward to take Alphonse's hand. He started, but twined his fingers with hers. "I know you guys went through a lot," she said, laying her other hand on top of Edward's knee. "Things you don't feel like you should tell me, or Granny. That's okay, as long as you talk to someone about it."

"You went through some of it with us," Edward said gruffly, and Alphonse nodded, squeezing her hand.

"Yeah, and sometimes, I have nightmares about what it felt like when the eclipse hit." Her hand felt cold in Alphonse's as her gaze went distant. "And how Scar looked, when you guys were fighting him in the alley, and the way he could've killed all of us." Her eyes drifted back to Alphonse's. "How you wouldn't wake up, when we were hiding out in Briggs."

Alphonse swallowed, but managed a smile. "We're okay now, though."

"Yeah, Winry." Edward stared at the ground.

Winry gave them both a flat look. "Liars."

The tension quivered between them for a few seconds before Edward snorted, shaking his head. "Okay," he said, "so we're not," the last word cracked, "completely okay."

"Yeah, there's more to healing than just getting our bodies back." Alphonse couldn't meet either of their eyes when he said it.

Winry tugged Alphonse closer, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. Edward's face turned pink when she did the same to him, mumbling a protest that died when Winry said, "You've got time for it, now."

Alphonse hugged her, tucking his cheek against the crook of her neck. Edward laid his hand on Alphonse's back, the warmth of it searing through his shirt. This time, it comforted. "We've got time," Edward said gruffly, rubbing the crown of Winry's head. "All of us."

"We'll put each other back together," Winry said, making Edward snort.

"We're not made of bolts and wires, Winry!"

"I know that, dummy!" Winry smacked Edward's chest with the back of her hand. "But we can still fix each other."

Alphonse snickered, breaking into their burgeoning argument. "What?" Winry asked him, her eyes narrowed.

"You're right," Alphonse said, throwing an arm around her, and the other around Edward. "We'll fix each other." It was what they'd always done, ever since they were kids, it was just they hadn't trusted Winry enough after their mom died. Now, after everything, maybe what they needed was time, and each other.

Edward groaned, "You've been hanging out with this gear head too much, Al," but he offered his fist for Alphonse to bump.

"Maybe not enough." Winry cupped their fists between her two hands.

"Maybe it's time to tell you everything," Alphonse said, meeting Edward's eyes.

"Yeah." Edward sighed, but the corners of his mouth turned up a little bit at Winry's soft gasp.

"Really?" Clasping her hands together, Winry glanced at them both, her eyes sparkling.

"It's not…that nice, Winry." Edward's warning didn't seem to dampen that enthusiasm.

"Yeah. People died," Alphonse said quietly. "Besides Brigadier General Hughes."

They looked between each other, and Winry nodded. "I understand."

Alphonse took her hand. "We were in East City," he said, "and Colonel Mustang offered to introduce us to a State Alchemist."

"The Sewing Life Alchemist," Edward said. His larynx bobbed as he lowered his head, shielding his face. "Shou Tucker. He was said to have created a chimera that could talk. Not like the ones you know. We didn't know about their kind until later, a lot later."

Alphonse inhaled deeply. "Mr. Tucker had a little girl, named Nina, and she was very lonely. Like we were, after Mom died."

"And she didn't have a busybody brat of a neighbor girl like you, to keep her busy." Edward grinned, a little hollowly, but still affectionate.

"Jerk," Winry told him as she squeezed Alphonse's hand. He tightened his grip on it. A lifeline, just like his brother's warmth, next to him. They could get through this, and tell her everything.

"She did have a big dog, though, Alexander," Alphonse said.

"Yeah, and her dad. But he was crazy," Edward said, his face falling. "And he'd done something horrible before we'd ever met them."

It would be a hard story to tell, but Winry deserved to know all of it. She'd been there when it started. She'd been there for the end of it. Now, she'd get to hear all the middle that she'd missed. And maybe, Alphonse thought, it'd help heal them all.

* * *

- _end_ -


End file.
